


One More Try

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also Dean attempts to flirt and it's adorable, Aspiring Botanist Castiel, Biggerson's, Blind Castiel, Blind Character, Castiel is a Sweetheart, College Student Castiel, First Dates, Fluff, Inspired by Music, Light Angst, M/M, Matchmaker Charlie, Musician Dean, Self-Conscious Dean, Then It Gets Cute Don't Worry, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Waitress Liz, awkward first date, guitarist dean, music references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9094747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “Mmm. What do you do when that happens?”“Wait for a muse.”“A muse?”“Yeah, like a source of inspiration,” Dean explains. “Sometimes it’s something as simple as a word, or a lyric, a passage in a book. Sometimes it’s something as big as a place or a person. Those are the things that usually get turned into songs—like a tribute. You’ve heard ‘Hey Jude’. Muses like that present themselves like…” Dean recalls back to the George Michael song that was playing when Cas walked in: “Like angels.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title and fic inspired by the song “One More Try” by the great and recently late George Michael, one of my many inspirations. Thank you for blessing our ears with great music and R.I.P.

 

With looks stunning even the guy with the brightest reflectors on his bike, everyone assumes Dean has it easy.

Sure, he's taken advantage in the past with free coffees and even backstage passes to some of his favorite bands without having to toss anything around but a mere wink, but he's seriously lacking in the relationship department—you know, the things that last more than a one-night stand. For once, Dean would like to go on a date and not have the first words out of someone's mouth be, "Wow, you're really hot." It's a flattering reassurance, but there's only so much helium his ego can be pumped with before it pops.

"Charlie, I told you, I'm fine—really."

"Is catching a nasty case of Cabin Fever what kids call 'fine' nowadays?"

"And rewatching _Dirty Dancing_ ," defends Dean, switching his cell to his other shoulder. He fumbles to balance the guitar he’s holding on his lap, so he props it on the couch. “And I’m _not_ a kid; I just turned twenty-three.”

“That’s a pretty petulant statement for someone who’s not a kid,” Charlie remarks.

“I—you know what, I’m not gonna argue back. That’ll show you how much of an adult I am.”

“Alright, Mr. Adult, well you should be out exercising your rights, and your…”

Dean purses his lips. “My…?”

“You know, your… magic wand,” Charlie replies, mumbling the last part like a soccer mom conversing with another mom in front of their kids.

“‘ _Magic wand’?_ Dean scoffs, “Who’s the kid now?”

Charlie sounds like she digs up a relic of a sigh for how deep it is, "His name’s Cas and he's really nice, Dean, I'm talking really nice—not to mention dreamy. He even agreed to go to your favorite restaurant, Biggerson's, the one with the Turducken sandwiches."

"Unless he looks like Patrick Swayze, I'm not interested."

"What do you have against dating?" Charlie probes.

Scoffing, Dean replies, "I wish I knew."

"What?"

"Nothing. Fine, you know what, I'll go." Dean can practically see Charlie's jaw drop as silence interrupts like a third-party caller, to which he bites back a grin. "But just so you know, I'm only doing it for the sandwich."

“You said it yourself, Dean-o, you’re an adult: Sometimes you’ve gotta make those sacrifices,” Charlie says.

Dean shakes his head as Johnny shakes Penny like she’s his pom-poms to the beat of “Do You Love Me”. Baby has some major competition. “ Damn right. Alright, text me the details.”

***

Dean’s a nervous eater. At least, that’s what he would tell his dietician.

Ten minutes go by, and still no sign of this Cas guy. What’s Cas even short for, anyway? Whatever it is must be going over the character amount in a local taxi service, because who would want to miss out on a date with a person they know nothing about beyond their favorite place to eat and their mutual friend? Blind dates leave absolutely _no_ room for misunderstanding or disappointment.

At least the cheesy fries are good, he thinks, as the next fry he picks up cascades from his lips and down his favorite flannel. Dean’s mouth stays where it is: close to the ground.

He feels like he’s in a perfect set-up for a romcom as George Michael comes over the radio, crooning customers with “One More Try” while a man in a beige trenchcoat and three-piece suit jingles the bell on the entrance door. (“I've had enough of danger/And people on the streets”)

Gorgeous is an understatement. With messy brown hair, and stubble that guards his large pink lips and extends well below his square jawline, tickling him way his Adam’s apple massages the length of his neck as he talks in confidentiality to one of the waitresses, he’s easily one of the handsomest men Dean’s ever seen.

The waitress says something to the man Dean can’t make out with her back turned to him. The man is kind enough to offer a smile and what looks like a few neatly folded dollar bills. That’s when the waitress moves on and he starts towards Dean. Dean scrambles out of his booth, nearly knocking over the ketchup bottle in the process. As he nears closer, he can more clearly see a white and red cane in the man’s right hand.

Blue eyes Dean pray tell the secrets ninety-five percent of the ocean has yet to reveal somehow look directly at Dean’s, which are mere emeralds in comparison. The man beams as he swaps his cane for his other hand to lend out his hand. ( _“I'm looking out for angels/Just trying to find some peace”)_ “You must be Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean chokes out as he slides his hand into his. It’s a calloused hand, just like Dean’s, so all their bumps and scabs press together in greeting as well. “Dean I am. Like Sam, Sam I am, my brother’s name is... Sam.” Dean hopes Cas doesn’t feel him cringe. “Cas, right? Do you want to sit?” he offers as an alternative response.

And yeah, Dean realizes he’s judging on the system people use to rate him on a compatibility scale, but he has no problem to getting to know Cas further—particularly what makes a guy like him laugh. Now _that_ makes him truly gorgeous. Like now: “Cas I am,” he responds, voice carrying rasp like rocks stuck inside a car that just made a quick escape over a dirt road, and depth, like his eyes, “and I would love to.”

Cas feels around the seat with his cane, then beneath the table before sliding in. He folds the cane and props it against the side of the booth for what Dean assumes is easy access in case Dean turns out to be a horrible date, and turns back to Dean with a smile. “Sorry I’m late, my Uber driver had to make a quick stop for gas.”

“No worries.” Then, after a pause: “So, you know Charlie?”

Cas nods. “Yeah, she’s… passionate.”

“Yeah,” Dean scoffs, “that’s one word for it.”

“But she means well.”

“Yeah,” Dean repeats with a small smile. “Yeah, she does. How did you guys meet?”

“We’re taking the same Latin class at KSU,” Cas offers.

“Latin,” Dean repeats, returning the nod, “that’s interesting.”

Cas shrugs. “Yeah, I just needed a language credit.”

“No, no, I get that, it’s just…”

“What?”

Dean covers his mouth to keep from grinning, and then composes himself enough to say: “Nothing, I just thought you’d be studying Italian.”

Cas tilts his head to the side in the most adorable way. “What gives you the impression?”

“Well, your name is short for Casanova, isn’t it?”

A blush creeps onto Cas’s face that would put the salvaged ketchup bottle in the corner to shame. “It’s Castiel,” he says shyly. “My full name is Castiel.”

Dean ducks his head to hide his own blush. “Well, that’s not nearly as cool as Casanova.”

“I know. I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s alright. If it’s any consolation, I was named after my Grandma Deanna.”

“Deanna?”

“Deanna.”

Cas fights the smile on his face. “That’s… interesting.”

The same waitress approaches their table to serve them. “Liz,” Dean greets, recognizing her by her trademark caramel hair and the rosy, genial smile she gives the two of them. Not that he comes here _that_ often (wouldn’t that be pathetic?). “How’re you?”

“Dean,” she says, Louisianan accent coming out as she folds her arms over her chest to say: “I thought you were a better gentleman, knowin’ better not to flirt while you’re on a date.”

Dean clutches his chest. “I am _offended.”_

”You should be,” Liz says with a smile, then turns towards Cas. “You better watch yourself with him.”

“That’s kind of difficult, granted I’m blind,” Cas responds with a small smile himself.

Liz blushes, and Dean just laughs as she goes through the process of ordering. Cas choses a cheeseburger with onion rings. Dean, who’s been set on Turducken, changes to the same. He could use a change, he thinks.

“So, what’re you studying?” Dean asks, picking up his glass of Diet Coke. “Sorry, by the way, if you wanted something else to drink. I wasn’t sure, so I just got water.”

“Water _is_ the singular source of all living things, so I appreciate you looking out for my vitals.” Cas smiles. “And it actually plays a major part in what I’m studying—Horticulture, particularly botany.”

 _That would explain the callouses._ “That’s cool...” Dean pauses. “I think? Science isn’t my strong suit.”

“Plants are very cool,” Cas affirms, picking up on Dean’s slight nervousness. “What’s your strong suit?”

“Music, definitely. I mean, I appreciate other arts, but music is my main thing. Do you garden?”

“Since I was young,” Cas affirms. “That’s actually what got me into botany. And music is cool. Do you play it?”

“Guitar, mostly,” Dean affirms.

“How long?”

“About ten years.”

Cas smiles softly, and Dean starts to feel the tension slip through his fingers. “Sounds like we’re both engineers of our craft.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “You don’t sound so sure.”

“Sorry, it’s just… I usually don’t get complimented on anything outside of my looks.” Dean laughs dryly, “That probably sounds stuck-up, you know, like, what do I have to worry about? I ‘can get anyone I want’, I’m ‘so handsome’. But I don’t really have people, not really. I have a fraction of them. The only person who doesn’t look at me like a piece of meat is Charlie, and that’s because she’s a lesbian,” Dean scoffs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to turn this into a heavy first date.”

Dean honestly wouldn’t blame Cas if he ran out right now. But instead, he’s just sitting there, facing Dean with a light smile, and that honestly makes him feel worse, like he’s pressuring Cas to stay to avoid looking bad.

“That’s okay; looks don’t matter much to me anyway.” Cas purses his lips, though can’t help the grin that finally stops tugging and starts pulling on the corner of his mouth. “Sorry, that probably sounds _trite_.”

A smile threatens Dean’s rigid posture. “Is everything a blind joke with you?”

“As long as I’m still blind,” Cas says with a curt nod, “yes.”

Dean laughs with the shake of his head.

“I’m serious,” Cas says, “it’s okay to feel discouraged—I’m sure Rock Hudson had bad days, too.”

“And Patrick Swayze.”

Cas’s face softens easier than the butter that was hard when they first sat down. “You’re a Swayze fan.”

“I can quote every line from _Point Break_.”

“Impressive.”

“Thanks.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Cas starts, mirroring Dean’s previous lead as he rests his hands on the table and leans in, “I’m more attracted to the fact that you’re a guitarist. Do you play anywhere?”

“Wherever I can find a gig, yeah,” Dean replies, face heating up. “Or, I was, until I got in a creative block.”

“Mmm. What do you do when that happens?”

“Wait for a muse.”

“A muse?”

“Yeah, like a source of inspiration,” Dean explains. “Sometimes it’s something as simple as a word, or a lyric, a passage in a book. Sometimes it’s something as big as a place or a person. Those are the things that usually get turned into songs—like a tribute. You’ve heard ‘Hey Jude’. Muses like that present themselves like…” Dean recalls back to the George Michael song that was playing when Cas walked in: “Like angels.”

Cas hums, “It must be an honor to be considered an artist’s muse.”

“It is,” Dean assures, and even though he knows Cas isn’t seeing him as he says that, he still makes sure to look at Cas directly as he says it, “believe me. We may be mortal, but a muse lives on… infinitely.”

Cas blushes just as their food arrives with a different server. The burger’s a good choice. Cas must agree the way he’s practically making out with it.

“Do you two need a room?” Dean remarks following a harrumph.

“Sorry,” Cas says, covering his mouth with his hand as he pales through his food, “I love their burgers.”

“No, it’s fine—it’s actually really endearing watching you eat.” Dean chuckles nervously at that last comment. “I just think it’s funny: For a plant-lover, you sure love meat.”

“Technically, I’m saving plants by eating meat, though.”

“Touché.”

Their lunch date is quickly moved to the parking lot, where Dean asks Cas if he needs a ride home, instead of having to Uber. Cas accepts his gesture, which opens an opportunity for more conversation on the drive to Cas’s apartment.

Dean learns random, but also telling facts about Cas, such as he really likes bees, and is even subscribed to newsletters for multiple organizations dedicated to the preservation of bees and their natural habitat, he won’t eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on whole wheat bread, and he was nominated by his graduating class as 'Most Likely to Brighten Your Day'—something he makes sure to honor to this day.

“This is it,” Dean says regretfully as he reads back the address to Cas to make sure. Sure enough, it is his place. “Can I walk you to your door?”

Cas frowns. “I’m on the fourth floor.”

“All the more reason,” Dean replies, to which Cas smiles with all his teeth.

As he holds the door open for Cas, Dean can’t help but gape in awe. As Cas stands there, next to the curb, the sun shines behind him and gives him a glow, particularly around his head, making him look like a…

Well, like an angel.

Maybe, Dean thinks, George was looking in the right place the whole time for them: on the street.

Fortunately for Dean, this song has a happy ending, because it writes itself on Cas’s doorstep moments later.


End file.
